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Friday, November 12, 2010

A few nights ago I was reading the latest blog offering on Verity Clothing, and at the end of the post she is discussing irrational fears. It got my mind ticking over about irrational fears, especially this part:

“Immediately after my shriek, my husband ran in thinking that I was getting murdered. He asked me later why I had screamed like that. I assured him that I had no control over what I did, or what sounds issued from me. Irrational fears are just that: irrational.”

The whole post was rather amusing, as it is when you don’t understand people’s fears, and don’t actually have them yourself. However, I have been subject to torment by people who find my own irrational fears funny, and I’m here to tell you – stop it. Whilst seeing me shrieking and flailing may tickle your fancy, and taking photos of me in such a state might float your boat, my fancy remains untickled, and my boat, sadly, is not floating. I try to take it in good humour, but really… there’s only so much a girl can take.

Irrational Fear #1: Feet

Do not put your feet near me. Do not attempt to touch my feet. Do not touch things of mine with your feet. Do not pick things up with your feet, and then pass them to me. Especially do not put your feet on my pillow – this just leads to extra laundering duties for me. During a bit of a play-fight with my old housemate, I had slapped him on the arm, and then run away. I suppose, having initiated the fight, I should have anticipated him to up the ante. But seriously, he plays dirty. He cornered me in our kitchen, and pointed his filthy, socked foot at me. I shrieked and squealed, possibly flailed, and then tried to stop flailing as it meant that I moved closer to his foot. Stopping mid-flail isn’t easy though. He also threatened to take his sock off and throw it at me. Vocal cords hoarse from extended shrieking, shaken, and no longer in a playing mood, I begged for a truce. Truce thus reached, I retreated and kept on my best behaviour. For at least an hour or two.

Irrational Fear #2: Big fish

Big fish give me the heeby-jeebies in a big way. They’re so big, and how small are their brains?? It’s not natural. I swear, every time I see one it’s just plotting a way to get out of its tank, or the ocean, and it’s figuring out a way to come and get me. I swear it is. There’s some sort of conspiracy going on here, and I don’t like it at all. The idea of giant squid has also plagued me over the years. They’re so BIG. In fact, one might even go as far as to say that they’re giant. But they’re squid. The whole thing just messes with my head.

FOOTNOTE: Ok, I was just reading an article on giant squid so that I could present you, my incredulous readers, with some giant squid facts so that you could understand and share my fear. All that I think I’ve done, though, is scare myself more. I also gagged just a minute ago. All this time I’ve been scared of giant squid (and yes, yes, I’m quite aware of the low likelihood of ever coming across one, but hey – irrational), and now I learn that there’s actually a bigger squid out there. A COLLOSAL squid. Holy Mary mother of God. Note to self: Never read about giant squid again.

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I Am...

A twenty-something currently living on the North-West coast of Tasmania. I indulge in a certain amount of craftiness, well-intended rambling, and too much coffee. My name is Sarah - welcome to my world.